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How long the driver's eulogy of Lady Frances might have continued is uncertain, as the flow of his discourse was here suddenly cut short.

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Through a gate, opening on the lane, rushed violently and suddenly a sow, followed by a litter of young half-grown pigs, the whole followed by a boy shouting at the top of his voice. The Bear horse, alarmed at the encounter, for the animals between his legs, wheeled rapidly to the right, rose perpendicularly on his hinder legs, and then rushed straight up the bank to the left. Off came, first the driver's hat, then the off wheel of the gig, and thirdly, Guy Carrington, who luckily escaped worse damage, by being precipitated on the evergreen hedge of a garden bordering on the lane.

Two ladies were in the garden, attending to the flowers, or rather one was attending to the flowers, and the other was attending to her.

"Gracious, Philippa!" said the elder lady, "what an accident. The poor man must be killed."

But Guy was soon on his legs. "It is the fault of that stupid boy, aunt," said the younger lady.

"Sir," said the elder, approaching hastily, but not without dignity, "are you much hurt? I greatly fear that one of my people has been the cause of the accident."

The old lady who spoke was clad in a dress of some Indian texture, drawn up through her pocket holes, over an exquisitely white petticoat. On her head she wore a shadowy bonnet, which descended by a sort of cape or second story to her neck and an open pelisse completed her attire. The eyes of Guy, however, as soon as he was conscious of the address, were directed towards the other figure which slowly approached over the

grass.

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"Not pretty," was his first thought, decidedly not pretty." But even now he seemed to be struggling with himself to esta blish this conviction on his mind, in spite of some powerful but in definite resistance.

It may seem inartistic to describe a person possessing any external personal claims to admiration, or even to attention, by a series of negatives, and yet negatives alone presented themselves to the mind of Guy, as characteristic of the lady called Philippa. She was not tall -at least he thought not, but her figure was of that rare symmetry which gives no scale of size. Measured by the foot, or by the hand, or even by the head, the true modules of the artist, she was tall. Her height, estimated by any other measure, seemed to depend only upon distance. Her figure was like a drawing in perfect perspective. Her face was colourless, not milk white, but the white of the white rose, while a scarlet blush lingered on her lips. As to her eyes, it was long before you could tell what colour they were, perhaps it most closely approached that of the violet. Her head was covered only by a rich growth of hair, neither curled, nor braided, nor floating, but looped and twisted into some fashion peculiar to herself, so as to crest the head like a coronet, to surround it like a turban, and to fall round her neck like a veil. Not a veil descending to the shoulders, but a sort of Grecian setting for the pure repose of the face. Her dress seemed to be as little a matter of choice, and as much a part of herself, as either hair or features. You never observed what it was, unless you had some reason for thinking of it.

On this occasion it was a close fitting garb of grey of soft and clinging tissue, almost invisibly lightened by one little bow

of narrow cherry coloured velvet. In short she was a person whose effect on a man of taste was that she glided into vision like a sunbeam, or like some new feature in a landscape unawares. It was not till a cloud came over the sun, or till a turn in the road shut out the picturesque detail, that you were aware how nearly the whole interest of the scene depended on it. Thus it was only when you left the presence of Philippa Clerc, that you were aware how the whole imagination, soul, and memory, had been dominated and penetrated by the irresistible and perfect magic of her charms.

As Miss Satterthwaite used stately apologies for her pigs, and her swine-herd, blended with inquiries as to the possible injury caused by the fall, Guy found himself in his turn apologising for the injury he had caused to the evergreens. "It shows that our care of the tamarisk has not been thrown away" said the old lady, "I question whether any other shrub would have been so effective. I shall begin to think that it shares some of the virtues of vervain."

The driver regarded with dismay his dismounted vehicle. "What's to be done now ?" said he "The linch-pin's broke short off.

It's

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signs of injury, and then subsided into a part of the landscape-an essential part, however.

The perfect, though somewhat stately and old-fashioned breeding of the old lady, so naturally harmonised with the manners of Guy, formed and cultured by such female influence as that of Mrs. Carrington and of Lady Ullswater, that the temporary repairs of the blacksmith seemed to be effected within five minutes from the occurrence of the accident.

"The driver waits the gentleman's orders," said a respectable old domestic. Guy rose from a conversation which had become animated, interesting, almost confidential. Each had forgotten that they were strangers to each other, and that all that the guest knew of

his hosts was that one was called "Aunt," and the other " Philippa."

"May I leave the name of the stranger who has had so fortunate an accident?" said Guy, placing his card on a side table. "I believe that I shall be at Plumville Hall for some weeks."

"In that case we shall hope to see you again," said the elder lady.

Guy resumed his seat in the gig. The driver was elaborate in his description of the cause of the accident, of the trouble taken to repair the wheel, of his own faultlessness in the matter. Guy listened, or seemed to listen; but he only remembered one sentence out of a great many-" Horse paid for in the bill, sir, and driver too. You've nothing to pay me, sir, but I've a had to pay the blacksmith ninepence."

Guy gave him (it was very uncalled for) two half-crowns.

"Please, sir, the portmanty," said the boy after a rather confused expression of gratitude.

"Bless me, I quite forgot the portmanteau," said Guy, "I meant to leave it at the Park Lodge."

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MR. ALEXANDER MACANDREW.

THE great Plumville works formed an oasis, in one of the loveliest valleys in South Wales. Not an oasis in a desert, but an oasis of desert amid a waste and wilderness of verdure. Desert, indeed, as to vegetation, but teeming with human life. Above ground, and underground, by day and by night, Cyclopean workers in coal, in iron, or in copper, laboured through the week unremittingly, and came, even by thousands, to the weekly pay table.

A road proper to itself led up to the Plumville works, and terminated in the Central Quadrangle, to which it obtained admittance through a gateway under one of the largest piles of buildings. To either side stretched an irregular line of sheds, shops, forges, foundries, and other erections, of various descriptions, devoted to the purposes of manufacture. A gigantic steam engine, which bore its own house on its back in the guise of a sort of penthouse protecting the working parts, which was framed on the vibrating beam, predominated in one corner; and was balanced by a pair of colossal cupolas, from which bright and angry flames constantly rose and fell with a flicker that, pale by

daylight, shed a fierce red glow over the little industrial city after nightfall. A second steam engine, within a large pile of brickwork three stories high, gave motion to the machinery of the mechanical part of the works; and a noble chimney, built of curved bricks specially moulded for the purpose, soared to the height of three hundred and sixty feet, clearing all fumes and vapours from the buildings, by its enormous draft, and forming a landmark, visible far beyond the limit from which the summit of the shaft could be descried, by the long stream of smoke, which, stretching in unbroken line to the leeward, struck, in certain states of the wind, upon the side of the lofty chain of limestone hills at the distance of from eight to twelve miles from its

source.

Descending at the principal entrance, Guy looked in vain for porter, or bell, or other means of conveying his wishes to the interior. A porter indeed there was, but the little sort of rabbit hutch that he occupied looked to the interior of the quadrangle, and the occupant took notice only of those who passed the wooden gates which separated separated the quad from the buildings flanking the gateway. After waiting for a little time in doubt, during which he was hustled by a constant steam of persons passing in or out of a corridor to the right, Guy at last addressed a sharp-looking lad who issued from that passage in his shirt sleeves, and gazed for a moment to right and to left, as if in search of some one.

"Where shall I find Mr. MacAndrew?'

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rooms on either side, the doors of which absorbed or vomited forth in driblets the component drops of the main stream which eddied beneath the entrance roof. At the end of this corridor, a stout door in two swinging halves, the upper parts of which were of plate glass, gave admission to a square, plain room, lighted from above, and containing an enormous desk, surrounded, at some distance, with a brass railing, and crimson curtain. From beside this desk issued sounds that made Guy aware that he stood in the actual presence of the formidable Mr. MacAndrew.

Guy entered the glazed foldingdoor, but no one took any notice of his arrival. One or two persons passed him, entering generally in a rather stealthy manner, and moving to the right of the railing, to a position in which, as it appeared by the comments called forth by their successive arrivals, they attracted the eye of the master. After a little hesitation Guy followed their example.

"Where was I?" said, or rather shouted Mr. MacAndrew, in the voice of a man addressing a public meeting, and with a strong Scotch

accent.

"Extreme surprise," replied a voice which issued from a lad perched on a high stool, and writing on a sort of pad placed on his knee.

"Extreme surprise at your last utterly unprecedented communication," continued Mr. MacAndrew. "Where are you, Stumps ?"

"Much pleasure," said a still younger lad, seated on a box, and writing on a pile of iron deed chests.

"Much pleasure, and shall feel the same in giving our best attention.-Oh! is that you, Smithis it you? At last, or is it only an unexpected apparition?"

"Very sorry, sir," said a stal

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rather think so," roared the manager; "and so am I - very sorry, sir-very sorry indeed. am afraid that my sorrow will be so poignant that it will put a stop to our further acquaintance, Smith! Your conduct is perfectly and unmitigatedly inexcusable. What have you the impudence to say for yourself ?"

"Please, sir, I hurt my leg very bad. A'most broke it, I can't walk yet above ten steps at a timewith a stick, sir. Here's the place, if you won't believe me."

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"Hurt your leg," exclaimed the manager; a likely story. Where was I, Green ?" "Unprecedented

tion."

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The manager took it from his hand, and inserted his thumb within the fold in order to tear it open, without looking at the direction. Pausing, however, in so doing, he continued: "Where are you, Green?"

"Rigour of the law.'
"Law.

We are, sir, your obe dient servants. Get another sheet of paper. Dear sir." He now commenced reading Guy's note aloud. "Dear sir-who?-J. H. Pierceoh!-oblige me one minute. Boy, take this gentleman to my room; and the boxes. Simps.'

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"Corresponding clerk-"

Corresponding clerk, who has only this day been replaced," said Mr. MacAndrew, rubbing his hands," so that you may shortly expect to hear from us more at length."

"Did I hear you right, sir?" said Stumps, looking up. "What have you got?" "Who has only this day been replaced.”

"You did. Accurately, precisely, and minutely right. We are, dear sir, your obedient and faithful servants."

"Now, all you," said Mr. MacAndrew, descending from his desk, and addressing the group behind the rail, most of whom, be it observed, were there in obedience to his own hasty summons, "make yourselves scarce. It is actually impossible for any created intelligence to get satisfactorily through such a press of business while subjected to such unparalleled and unprecedented interruption and solicitation. Put down all that you have to say in writing, all of you, and let it come regularly before me through the office. Green, inquire for the reply to that telegraph to London. Stumps, fair copy your last, and Green's, too. Boy, stop outside my door, and let no one in. But come your

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